Bros
by Shana Hager
Summary: Mario. Luigi. How far will these brothers go to show their love and devotion for one another, even in a tournament where they beat each other up periodically? These poems seek to answer this question. Curl up with some comfort food and enjoy.
1. Win and Loss

**Part I: 1999**

 **Win and Loss**

Just got back from battling my bro.

I won, and he lost,

But it wasn't from lack of trying.

Let me tell you: he fought hard

And long and brought everything to the arena.

I honestly thought he was gonna take me in that fight, but…

I came out on top.

* * *

Saw him after I posed for my victory,

Standing there, battered and clapping.

I saw his eyes and read his thoughts,

 _Nothing new, the big bro is always better_ ,

But that's not true;

He gave me one heck of a fight back there.

* * *

Man, you should've seen us!

We fought on a stage reminiscent

Of our side-scrolling adventures.

It was warm and bright and happy and sunny

And the arena was packed to the brim

To see us. Oh, how we fought…

Me the one in red, my gloved fists delivering

Such forceful punches and red fire

Knocking coins away with a single uppercut,

While he, the one in green, defiantly flashed his eyes at me.

I'll never forget his eyes. Blue starlight

And green fire countering my red flames.

His body lunging at me, his power pushing

Against my power.

He knows my tricks and I know his;

We're brothers, after all.

Almost equally matched.

Almost.

* * *

And in that moment, in that moment

I didn't care

If I won.

I didn't care

If I lost.

I didn't care

Who won and who lost.

All that mattered was _present._

 _Here._

Battling my bro,

Testing him,

Tested by him,

Discovering his secrets…

Unraveling his mysteries…

Seeing

The fighter within…

His energy

My energy

Our energy

Pulsing and crashing together again

And again and again and again…

Till that last stock was taken,

Till that shout of GAME,

Till our sweat drip-dropped

And our essence lingered,

The crowd roaring for us both.

* * *

Standing here in the minutes after

And seeing him taking the loss in stride,

I feel the warmth of our dynamic

Spread flush along my chest,

Like the way it was splattered

In many vibrant colors

Against the battlefield.

 **Please R &R.**


	2. Of Lists and Love

**Of Lists and Love**

Buried under eleven better known names,

Is you.

At the bottom, smothered by others,

Is you.

Held down by the weight of obscurity,

Is you.

But the person lifting that weight away,

Is me.

The one sandwiched between the best and the worst,

Is me.

The one standing here, looking at this list,

Is me.

The one who will get you through this, whatever it takes,

Is me.

And the one who will rise, who will set this tournament ablaze,

Is you.

* * *

 **Please R &R.**


	3. Seat

**Seat**

There's a seating area surrounding each stage,

Arranged like a classic Greek amphitheater.

Three perfect little sections of chairs arranged

In a half-moon shape,

Left, Middle and Right.

And in the Middle section

Is a quaint little seat

In the first row,

The middle seat,

Which gives the best view of the action.

* * *

First row, middle seat.

That's my seat.

My golden seat.

I sit there when my bro is scheduled for a fight.

I sit there because I know he can see me

And I can see him.

I can look in his eyes,

And he can look in mine

And know

That I will always root for him.

I will always be there for him.

I can speak words of deep brotherly love

Without uttering a syllable.

In the heat of battle,

I watch him from my special seat.

I watch the fire burn in his eyes.

I watch the sweat slide slowly down his face.

I watch his face as it animates.

I watch his muscles and his fluid movements.

I watch him.

I gird him.

I support him.

I love him.

* * *

First row, middle seat.

When my bro is on the battlefield,

That seat is mine,

All mine.


	4. Lounging Together

**Lounging Together**

This is a fighting tournament,

But we're allowed to relax as well.

In between striving to be the best on the battlefield,

There are moments when we're allowed to be just friends,

Hanging together.

* * *

I'm so tired sometimes after my fights.

I take my shower braced against the wall,

The water as cool as possible.

I'm aching, battered, covered in bruises.

I'm fighting and sweating so hard—

Practically busting my knuckles to get it through the thick skulls

Of my opponents and the audience

That I'm not someone to be treated as a joke;

I'm a fighter and a Smasher in my own right.

My jaw is sore from clenching it so tightly,

Giving the one across from me blistering looks

So as to drive my point home.

But, no.

The peal of laughter remains,

Rippling through the sea of people

Like a tidal wave.

Laughter at the _pathetic little man_

 _In last place_ ,

The soft flesh of a Maxim tomato

Gives beneath my face,

Chunks sliding down my cheeks, my chin,

Into my mouth—

There's the smell of the fruit

And the sting of mortification.

I swallow it down

And fight on.

* * *

But afterwards,

After soothing my wounds in the shower

And stepping into the lounge,

It doesn't hurt anymore.

I don't feel anger or pain or humiliation

Because

I'm lounging with you.

Your arm around me,

Your voice and your laughter brightening my day,

Making tomorrow all right.

You lean into me,

And I lean into you,

And I feel so safe, so protected.

We share buttery snacks

Gossip

Jokes

Clicking cassettes into the stereo,

Listening to our tunes waft through the lounge.

Sometimes, we sway to the beat.

Other times, I get up and dance

While you watch.

* * *

It doesn't matter

That I'm considered the worst Smasher.

It doesn't matter

How many people laugh at me.

It doesn't matter

How many Maxim Tomatoes are thrown at me.

It doesn't matter

How far people will go to make my life Hell.

All that matters

Is that we're here

Lounging together.

* * *

 **Please R &R.**


End file.
